What Lies Beneath
by A Red Moon
Summary: She deserved to be punished; to die alongside their precious father. And yet something inside of him wouldn't allow it. He didn't know why and he couldn't explain it...because he was a creature of rage and hate, and anything else simply escaped him.
1. Pursuit of the Hunted

Before I begin, I wanted to address the status of '_A Wolf's Bane_' for those of you still waiting for a chapter. So if this applies to you, please go to my profile right now, and you'll find the details regarding it.

**Disclaimer**: This fiction is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended. Terra Nova is _was_ owned by FOX Broadcasting Company and to its respected writers.

**Rating: **A warning to readers: while this story might not start out particularly dark, it may later come to include adult themes. It's rated M for potential character death, explicit sexual themes, graphic violence, and language.

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><p><strong>What Lies Beneath<br>**

_So I'll find what lies beneath your sick twisted smile.  
>As I lie underneath your cold jaded eyes.<em>

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><p>I.<p>

_Pursuit of the Hunted _

She ran blindly through the foliage, hurtling herself like a wild animal passed the thick brush blocking her way. Sweat and tears burned the fresh cuts slashed across her flushed face, but she didn't dare stop – only pushed herself to move even faster.

She didn't know who she was running from, but she could make an educated guess. They were human, not reptile even though their cries and laughter resembled hyena. But the way they moved: it bordered savage. They were fast, unrelenting, and out for blood.

It had been a simple OTG; a small group of soldiers, scientists, and volunteers to go collect the rarer plants about 35 clicks from the settlement. Most of the people she had been scouting with were already dead, ripped apart in ungodly ways. Her friends, her teammates, her coworkers – they were laying face-down about two miles back; left alone to be clawed and chewed to pieces by some of the most deadly creatures ever known to man.

And yet, at the moment, Skye was more afraid of the barbarians chasing her now then the ravenous carnivores stalking the night.

Her breathing was loud in her ears, but it wasn't strong enough to block out the manic laughter from behind. Their footsteps sounded like a looming stampede, approaching at alarming rates. She couldn't stop; couldn't take a second to take a breath or study her surroundings. Her lungs screamed for relief, her heart furious against her rib cage, but she could only ignore her body's protests, trying her hardest to move faster. Fresh cries stretched up her throat with each leap forward, sharp pains shooting up her calves like electricity.

She pushed on, jumping over a rather large root with nothing but the dusk light guiding her rocky path. In her frantic mind, Skye tried to figure out how close she would have to get to the camp for a spotter to notice her heat signature. Was she even close? She had specifically run towards the direction they originally came from, hoping that maybe someone would notice her and send out a team. Certain things were beginning to look familiar, but perhaps it was just her desperate mind playing tricks on her. She couldn't take even an extra second to further investigate.

They were still behind her - much quieter now than before which was unnerving. She didn't risk glancing back, afraid of what she may or may not see. But they hadn't stopped their hunt; she was sure of it. She could practically feel their hungry, hot gaze burning against her back.

_Keep going; just a bit further! _She tried to encourage her exhausted body. _A bit further, Skye! _

It happened quickly.

Somehow one of them managed to get ahead of her. There was a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye, but before she could turn her head, the man swung his body around the tree, jutting out his arm and slamming it straight into her chest, forcing her to fall backwards.

Any air held within her lungs was pulled from her body, leaving her squirming on the dirt ground, mouth agape in desperation. Her head spun from the sudden lack of oxygen, but she wasted no time, trying her hardest to quickly recover. Ignoring the pain, she forced her body onto its side hoping to push herself back up, but before she could, a foot settled heavily against her shoulder, shoving her back down until she was laying flat once more.

"Where are you running off to darling?"

Footsteps – dozens of them, loud and deadly came to an abrupt stop around her fallen form. Her breathing remained ragged, her eyes wide and scared as the foot dug harder into her shoulder, and when she grunted a soft noise of distress, it elicited an excited hiss from her pursuer.

He pulled his foot away only to reposition himself on top of her, one knee by her stomach, the other bent by her other side. He moved with such speeds, she had trouble keeping her eyes on him.

"Let's get a look at the face."

His voice was a deep, guttural sound, rough and tactless, similar to the feel of his callous hands against her skin. The darkening sky made it difficult to see the true color of his skin, but Skye had the feeling that even light wouldn't help. They were all covered head to foot in dirt, blood, and what appeared to be some form of make-shift war paint. Similar in appearance, they wore clothing that was ripped and shredded, stained with just as much blood that covered their faces. Their hair was wild and disheveled, uncivilized and untamed, staying true to the rest of their manifestation. But now that she could see them close up, she recognized the conduct even if she didn't recognize the voices or faces.

They were Sixers; no doubt about it.

The man above her – who smelt of blood and sweat – moved his fingers to brush away the strands of curls shielding her eyes, but the moment his skin made contact, she turned her head until her cheek was pressed against the earth beneath her. She didn't want him touching her; didn't want to watch him as he analyzed her face; didn't want to stare up into those dark, manic eyes he undoubtedly possessed.

Hidden from her was the twisted grin that formed on his lips when he saw her squirm underneath him like a tiny, pathetic animal.

His fingers wrapped around her chin, gripping her face so tightly it almost pained her. He forced her to turn her head back up, stopping only when she looked up to glare at him. But she hadn't expected his eyes. They were beautiful: a pool of cerulean, haunting and endless. They glowed in the moonlight, pulling her deeper and deeper until she was sure it had to be magic constraining her body. But beyond the beauty was something dangerous – something convoluted and parasitical. Something that forced chills to break out across her skin.

He stared at her for a few seconds; eyes examining her face in great detail before dropping. Skye let out a small noise when she felt his hand softly brush against her side, but was quickly restrained when his fingers released her chin only to wrap around her neck. The way his eyes moved down her form: slowly, greedily, hungrily… never before had she felt more violated.

And then he smirked and looked back at her face, "Adequate, she'll do…"

He let out an arrogant laugh, grabbing onto her arm and dragging her to her feet. Skye found her legs shaking as he pulled her up, and immediately tried to put some kind of distance between them, but the Sixer seemed to have other plans because he tugged her closer until her body fell against his.

Those eyes lowered to find hers once again, a small sneer forming on his lips as his fingers ran up her side. "What's your name lovely?" She tried to pull away, but stopped the moment his grip tightened around her arm, so powerful she knew he'd leave bruises. He was eying her again, and the look in his eyes made her sick. His hands moved up her arms to cup her cheeks, his breath hot on her face as he pulled her close. "What should I call you?"

Skye recognized the glint in his eyes, and it made her skin crawl. His touch was possessive and forceful, and with each passing second, his lips would get dangerously closer. The disgust she felt towards him compelled her to bend her leg, and with as much force as she could muster, she kneed him in the groin.

The sound of his pain brought a pleased grin to her lips, and the moment he pulled his arms off of her, she took off.

Unfortunately, she didn't get far.

Mere seconds later, she felt a hand clutch at the roots of her hair, fiercely pulling her in the opposite direction, and then there was pain and darkness. The world suddenly spiraled out of control, the earth beneath her turning upside down until the pressure suffocated her.

She was huddled on the ground again before she could even open her eyes. And when she finally did manage to crack them open, black dots ate hungrily at her vision. She could barely move; could barely do anything except claw at the dirt beneath her head. But the pain was real enough, and she felt her stomach churn nauseously when she felt something warm and sticky drip down her forehead. A scent - sharp and metallic - assaulted her nose, and further aggravated the rolling sensation in her stomach.

It was almost impossible to hear anything over the pulse in her own ears, but she felt the ground vibrate nearby and then hands – rough and insensitive – tugging her up. She realized quite quickly she couldn't stand on her own - not while the world was tipping on its side. Bile rose in her throat as they shoved her forward, all her senses caving in on her.

She couldn't see - could only hear the muffled sounds of shouts and the pulsing in her own head - could only smell copper, and could only taste the sickness attempting to rise from her stomach, but the worst was definitely the pain. It was as if every thought in her head had been broken up into a thousand little sharp shards, and now they were rolling and shifting about unsteadily against her skull.

They dragged her entire weight, her limbs heavy and unresponsive; her eyes just as heavy. She was swiftly becoming a victim to the numbing darkness threatening to overcome her, but before she succumbed to it, she tried her hardest to focus, realizing that this may be the last few moments of her life.

But not even the fear could chase away the pain.

"Silas, we managed to strap down two others. Two males."

"Fine."

Hands – they were on her face, caressing her cheeks, forcing her to look up. Hot breath rolled against her flesh, causing her to cringe with distress.

"And you."

Agitation, anger…arousal; it dripped like honey from that familiar voice.

"You my dear, where you're headed, you don't need a name."

Laughter, raucous laughter and then darkness.

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><p>The feeling in her fingers was gone, the blood flow having been cut off. Her head felt as if it weighed a ton, but thankfully the spinning had stopped. The moment she realized she couldn't move her arms though was the moment her eyes flashed opened.<p>

Her visions blurred – shadows and darkness surrounding her. The only light came from the small lanterns positioned on the handmade wooden floors and a few torches lit a couple meters away. She could hear the hiss of the wind, leaves rustling nearby somewhere, but couldn't see passed the night. Her surroundings were painstakingly familiar though as if from a dream or a far off memory.

Most of the walls were covered in shadows, but every so often, the wind would blow the tent flaps into the lantern lights. Numbers, equations, ancient hieroglyphics, various drawings, symbols – one moment they were illuminated before scurrying away to hide back into the darkness. Something about the content was haunting; it left her with a horrible, growing pit in her stomach.

A cot along the side of the tent, various clothing – distinctively male, and weapons – weapons which made her panic. She tugged her arms up, gasping at the pain that shot up her limbs. As her vision focused, she glanced down at her sides, noticing the rope wrapped around her wrists, so tight her fingers were white. She pulled up, cursing softly when the ropes only further tightened around her.

"Good, you're awake."

Her head whipped around towards the direction she heard the voice, and with great horror she watched as a shadow stood in the thick darkness. Her heart halted to a stop because the evidence placed before her screamed only one name.

He stepped into the light, a dark crazed look glowing in those bright, bright jade eyes.

"Hello again dear sister."

She couldn't suppress the gasp nor stop the whisper that rushed passed cracked lips, "…Lucas."

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><p><em>Send me a review lovely reader. <em>  
><em>I'd be delighted to hear what you think.<em>


	2. Afraid This Time

I really, _really_ appreciate all the kind reviews. They really make my night when I get a new one. (I have a horribly boring life). Sorry for the wait; school is just beating the hell out of me. I also apologize for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes; it's late but I wanted to get this up as soon as possible. Enjoy!

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><p>II.<br>_Afraid this time._

_This isn't easy to admit, but I'm afraid…_

At that moment, she didn't know what to feel – or maybe she felt so many opposing extremes, she couldn't decipher between them. Horror: it was definitely present, tightening her chest to the point where she could barely breathe.

His dark eyes pierced through her – angry and frustrated. He looked different somehow. Something about the spark in his eyes: colder – more so than before. And after staring at him for a few seconds, she noticed the way he avoided her gaze, instead choosing to pace before her like a restlessly hungry animal.

A glint in his hand suddenly caught her attention.

Her eyes quickly found the source, coming to rest on the small knife Lucas juggled between his fingers. Her heart rate increased, her stomach twisting horribly when she examined it a bit further. It was the same size as the knife he plunged into the Commander's side that day, perhaps the very same. Maybe he was saving it as a memento – a reminder of his failure. It was something she'd expect from a madman.

She didn't bother covering the fear in her eyes; she wasn't sure she could even attempt to mock bravery in her current predicament, and so she allowed the panic to build on her face with each silent second that passed. And when he finally did turn his head to look at her, it was almost as if he appreciated the display. That she _knew _just how dangerous a situation she had meddled herself into. That there would be serious and deadly repercussions for her actions.

She tugged again on the ropes, desperation and dread numbing the pains from the growing burns marking her wrists.

But fear surprisingly wasn't the only thing she felt. _Strangely _relief flooded just as strongly through her system. He was alive, and well it seemed. It had been a little over a month since the Phoenix soldiers had been overthrown; since Hope Plaza had been destroyed, and things had just begun to revert back to the way they were before this mess happened.

A little over a month since she last saw him…

The thing she remembered the most was the surprise; not in Lucas's actions - she knew just how bloodthirsty and unstable he was when it came to killing his father, as if nothing else matter, as if everything else paled in comparison to this one thing - but in her own actions. She had never attempted to kill another human being. She honestly didn't believe she had it in her, but when she saw Lucas charging towards Taylor, a cruel and savage glare in his eyes, she panicked.

The bullet had shot out of the gun before she even noticed she was squeezing the trigger.

He hadn't even flinched. His eyes had wavered towards her figure, a flash of surprise, panic, betrayal and then anger. He stared at her while he regained his footing as if daring her to interfere again before charging forward a second time, as if pain and death didn't scare him, as long as he drug Taylor down with him.

After the second shot, she couldn't conceal the small whimper that whined deep in her throat. Her mind was just a jumble of fragments; one's she couldn't comprehend. _Stop Lucas! Taylor's been stabbed, he's bleeding, bleeding a lot. Pain – from the blast of the gun. Sick, nauseous, scared. The Commander – how deep is the wound? I don't want to kill you Lucas. Just stop; don't make me kill you._

Because despite everything, she didn't want to be the one to kill the man. Despite how many people he killed, despite his mission in life to destroy the only father figure she had left in this world, she still felt sorry for him.

Lucas Taylor was in control of everything, everything except his emotions and there were times when she could read him like a book.

The pain in his eyes when someone mentioned August 2138; the acceptance and strong certainty which fueled him to fix what he thought was broken. The child-like exuberance when he finally figured out his equations; his warning not to return back to Terra Nova in order to keep her out of danger's way, as if he was truly thankful for her assistance. The amusement stirred when she stubbornly resisted his orders. Only she could get away with such disobedience; they both knew it. The way he looked at her at times, especially after he'd been drinking, as if she was something beautiful – more beautiful than anyone else around...

But what really disturbed her was his resolute, unyielding belief that his father truly hated him; truly blamed his only son for the death of his wife.

_I've been waiting my whole life for him to forgive me._

_Forgive you for what?_

_For being born, dear sister. For the unforgivable act of being born. _

There was something in his eyes – a humored sadness that continued to eat away at his remaining sanity. Whether intentional or not, Skye was allowed to see it, and for that brief instant, she felt sorry for him. For a foolish second, she wanted to help him with his struggle. She wanted to show him what she already knew: that his father didn't feel the same hate towards him; that whenever Taylor spoke of his son, there was only regret and sadness within his eyes, not murderous intent. Lucas was just too blinded by his own rage to see it.

But she had to remind herself that this feud wasn't her fight – not really. This was a battle between father and son; a fight stirring from a past she couldn't even begin to imagine. And she was quite certain that if she did kill Lucas, the Commander would never forgive her. He wouldn't blame her, but there would always be the grief and regret that he wouldn't be able to hide. He would never view her as his adopted daughter anymore. Hell, he wouldn't even see her as the Sixer mole who betrayed the entire colony anymore. Skye would be labeled just as 'Lucas's murderer'.

That day, every emotion, thought, and worry rushed through her at painful speeds, but the second she watched the Commander fall, everything felt as if it were breaking apart; time moved both too fast and too slow, and Skye was torn between fear and horror; between saving one life or the risk of loosing both – but she wasn't strong enough, not yet. She needed the Commander; Terra Nova needed the Commander. Without him they would be lost, and she couldn't lose another father. She just couldn't. So she squeezed; squeezed hard and further entangled herself in the Taylor family's problems.

Her throat constricted as she watched him, her struggles dying as she attempted to regain her composure. Lucas's eyes flashed in her direction once she quieted, and she could practically hear what he was thinking. _I want to kill you; rip you apart. Squeeze until the life leaves your eyes. _He was still pacing, playing with the dagger in his hands, but he wouldn't keep his eyes on her for more than a few seconds, quickly distracting himself with whatever was held in that large brain of his. He appeared to be battling with himself, his lips moving silently as if reciting something.

After a few painfully long seconds, he looked her way and finally stopped. Her heart sputtered to a stop as he stepped closer, her body tensing against the wooden column at her back. He bent his back and hovered over her, eyes suddenly just as calculating and mischievous as she remembered.

"What's the matter sister? You've grown considerably paler."

_As if I've seen a ghost. _

He raised the hand holding the dagger, tracing one finger along the length of her cheek, as the hilt of the weapon softly brushed against her jaw.

She tried to avoid his face, but he was so close she couldn't look anywhere else. Instead she focused on the patterns and fabric of his clothing: a chocolate brown button up shirt, a green undershirt underneath. She watched his chest rise and fall before her eyes, and with each intake, she expected the dagger to burry itself within her side.

His proximity made her uncomfortable, and he knew it because he leaned in a bit closer, dipping his head down so she was forced to make eye contact. She was assaulted with his smell – a mixture of the jungle forest, the night air, and musk. She wanted to close her eyes before he captured her gaze, but as he bowed his head, he forced her attention, and once trapped, she couldn't look away.

When green found blue, a smile that didn't reach his eyes formed on his lips. Glancing behind his shoulder, he pulled up a spare chair while she took the liberated moment to look up towards the ceiling, examining the tip of the wooden pillar she was strapped to. The tent was practically identical to the one he used at the last Sixer's camp – no doubt Mira saved his work and belongings. Despite Mira's aggressive and hostile behavior, even she was fearful of Lucas; or maybe he simply held something above her head like they had done with her mother. Perhaps she was only in it for the money.

She shifted on the wooden crate underneath her, trying to find a more comfortable position as to get her body to stop screaming in agony. The wood was old and stiff but high enough so that when Lucas sat down, they were eye level.

She could feel him looking at her, and after a small, courageous inhale, she lowered her eyes back to him. His lips were stretched to form an amused smirk seemingly aware of what she was doing, as if the calculations of her own thoughts hovered above her head for him to read.

After another moment, he leaned back in the chair.

"How's Terra Nova?" He asked conversationally, digging his back into the chair. When she hesitated to answer, his smile fell, eyes darkening slightly. His knee nudged hers gently, as if trying to coax the answer from her. "How's our father?"

Something swelled in her chest – pride perhaps? Maybe determination - to make Lucas realize his father wasn't as immoral as Lucas claimed him to be. She sat up as best she could, her chin high in the air as the fear began to depart, replaced with something bolder.

"He's recovering," she said accusatorily, raising her brow for emphasis. "Everything was finally returning to normal."

He grinned as he stared at the knife resting in his lap. "Didn't appreciate the way I ran Terra Nova?"

"You killed Wash," she drawled, unable to hold back the words or the malice accompanying them. The anger, the hurt, the blame - it was directed at him in full force. His fidgeting stopped the moment the name was whispered into the air, but Skye refused to stop there. "Killed twenty-six colonists, almost killed Josh, hurt Mr. Shannon…"

She tried to keep her voice level, but the memories swiftly came rushing back, and with it the pain as well. But she didn't need to continue because he understood the gist, and after a second, his eyes slowly drifted up to find hers. They lacked emotion, she noticed – as if he truly felt nothing anymore, or maybe he had just gotten very talented at repressing them.

He took a small breath, "I gave the woman a chance; she could have saved her life – they all could have. I would have spared her."

She pursed her lips, "I doubt that."

He was surprised by her audacity, but remained quiet, silently urging her to continue.

"When it comes to your father, you're a completely different person."

She saw his eyes darken considerably and she turned her sights elsewhere lest she lose her nerve. But as he stood up and hovered over her like a predator, she found she could look nowhere else.

Rage: that familiar anger she saw when she shot him was hot in his eyes, and she held her breath, staring back at him. It was obvious from the grimace forming on his face that he was trying not to lash out, like he'd normally do. His hands were shaking a bit, and she realized after a second that he too was holding his breath.

A sick smile twisted on his lips, "I don't think you understand sweet sister." His face got closer, so close she could see her own reflection in his eyes. "You don't know anything about what he-"

"I overheard the interrogation," she breathed and instantly regretted it.

His anger quickly melted into confusion. He narrowed his eyes and she found herself continuing despite the screaming in her head that told her to stop.

"What you told Mr. Shannon…about your mother."

The tent grew deadly quiet; she waited – waited for him to hit her or scream about her obtrusive behavior, but there was nothing but silence for a good minute. His pupils flickered back and forth between hers, taking in each expression as if searching for something.

After what felt like hours, he reacted, lifting both hands, inconsequently bringing the dagger closer to her face. Panicking, she squeezed her eyes shut, her throat convulsing in fear as her chest tightened in anticipation.

What she was blinded to was the lack of attention on Lucas's face. It was almost as if he was in a completely different world, surrounded by different things entirely. His eyes glazed over at her words, and his body became stiff. But when she released a small sob-like whimper from his sudden abrupt movements, his focus quickly snapped back. His hands hovered over her face for a moment, at a complete loss of what to do, before he let out the frustrated pent up oxygen stuck in his lungs.

"You really need to start being careful about what you overhear." His voice was low, strained with effort to remain calm. When she peeked opened her eyes, she found him staring at her with a distant and dead glare. "It's beginning to get you in a lot of trouble."

"Where am I?" She tried to change the conversation, her body trembling from the threat evident in Lucas's voice.

He stepped away from her, controlling his breathing as he threw his knife down on one of the nearby wooden desks cluttering the space. It wedged itself into the wooden surface with a loud _thunk_, startling the female somewhat.

"We're about forty-three clicks from the Badlands, along the outer edge."

When she heard the news, her heart sank.

She had never been this far out before. None of them had, except maybe the Commander. This territory was unknown to her and _if_ she somehow did manage to escape, she'd have no idea which way to even go. She recalled the recent reports the soldiers delivered daily to the Commander: how the Sixers and remaining Phoenix soldiers were moving to the North, towards the Badlands. The reasons as to _why_ though remained a mystery to everyone within the community. Skye had overheard the Commander and Mr. Shannon discussing the issue one night, but the two leaders seemed to be just as baffled as the rest of the commune.

The only clue that had was that creepy statue, and the Commander was stingy with the details. Ever since the mess with Lucas, Taylor had been careful with the details he shared with her, and Skye assumed it was because he didn't want her involved in such matters. He gave her an awkward pat on the head, and told her not to worry; told her that her involvement in the battle was over and that she needed to focus her attention on her mother's recovery, and becoming a family once again.

What he didn't understand was that she viewed him to be just as important. He was her family too, and she could tell the mystery of what lay in the heart of the Badlands, the explanation as to why the Sixers were vigorously heading to its location, and his son's involvement in the whole ordeal bothered him a great deal more than he let on.

She was about to ask Lucas why they were heading North, when he decided to change the subject. Mentally, she made a note to ask it later. Maybe when she got back home, she'd be able to help this time instead of hinder.

"You were brought in very early this morning."

From the darkness outside, she guessed she'd slept through the day, but with most of the sky blocked from her sights, there was no real way she could tell.

"You should be thanking me."

She could barely contain the scoff that tickled her throat, and it came out more like a choked sob. "For what?" She asked incredulously with a tilted head.

"These men – the remaining Sixer members," he hesitated, eyeing the darkness outside before running his tongue over his lips to moisten them. "They have become a bit," again he hesitated, trying to find the right word.

"…barbaric?" Skye finished for him, remembering their animal-like behavior. She raised her brows, expecting him to disagree. She was surprised when he didn't, and slightly frightened when they locked eyes again; only this time nothing but sincerity stared back at her.

"Yes," he answered with serious conformity. "You might not have noticed, no doubt our father is trying to hide it from everyone, but his soldiers have started to disappear."

She felt her brow furrow in slight shock because she hadn't noticed any disappearances. Was this why the Commander had been so against her leaving with a simply convoy sent to bring back herbal plants? He truly wasn't sharing any information with her anymore. Was it really because he didn't want her involved? Or was it because he didn't trust her? She didn't exactly blame him for either, but she couldn't deny the frustration.

She didn't deserve his trust, and yet she desperately hounded him for it. It was times like these where Skye really felt like an ignorant child. Her eyes darkened a bit when she focused on his words, her expression quickly changing to disgust. "Blackmail wasn't good enough; now you've resorted to kidnapping people?"

His hand clenched; his eyes a dark emerald as he turned his entire body back around to glare dangerously at her.

"I've grown desperate!" It surprised her that he wasn't afraid to admit it; wasn't afraid to admit just how close he was to losing. "I'm beginning to run out of options."

She could feel the lump growing in her throat. The memories of her comrades, her friends: dead and torn apart, left to bleed out and die alone and cold. She shook her head, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to fall, staring angrily at the floor. No amount of justification would _ever_ make this okay.

"They were my friends; good people and your men tore them apart. They didn't even have a chance to surrender."

Lucas was silent for a while, but his expression remained cold and empty, revealing nothing. Did it even bother him? The amount of blood on his hands? She had been plagued with nightmares for weeks after she shot him, afraid that she had actually killed him and riddled with guilt despite the reasoning's she assured herself. Was he _that_ inhumane? Did he not care at all?

"Mira's different now." His voice had gotten a bit softer as he finally sat back down across from her. "I can't control her or her men all the time."

_Who's around to control you? _She was tempted to ask, but remained quiet, ignoring his words and refusing to meet his gaze.

"Mira's lost her chance, and this is her outcry. She's declared war against Terra Nova, but she plans to rip it apart first."

She refused to acknowledge him, the pit in her stomach growing more and more restless. When he reached out to grab onto her chin, she flinched and tried to pull away, but his grip was strong and he forced her attention. They both stared at one another for some time – a battle for dominance until finally, he spoke.

"And you, _you_ took _my_ chance, Skye Tate." The way he said her name; the way it slid from his tongue, soft but deadly made chills break out across her skin. It was the first time he used her real name, and at that moment she couldn't deny the fear. He continued to stare at her, eyes empty and cold. "I told you not to betray me again..."

Her answer (her excuse) was immediate, "Like you said, the Commander is like a father to me."

"I know," he nodded in understanding. "I know that's why this is difficult for you."

"But you," she paused feeling her expression transforming into a glare. Some part of her begged her to stop, in fear of his potential response, while the other part wanted nothing more than to gut him down. "You are not a brother to me."

Something flashed in Lucas's eyes – anger, disappointment, but she didn't stop, couldn't stop. "A brother would never hurt the people his sister cared about."

She was giving _him_ a lesson in human behavior, and it amused him. A bitter smirk spread on his lips, but it was soon eaten away by something distant and grim. His concentration shifted upwards, focusing on something above her left eye. "And a good sister would never shoot her own brother."

Guilt made her cringe and immediately look away. Her vision flew to the spots on his chest where the bullets may have pierced, and her mind began to visualize the scars that were undoubtedly concealed underneath the thin fabric. Her throat became dry.

"I-I didn't want to shoot you," she stuttered, "but I couldn't let you kill him. Not if I could stop it."

She couldn't lose anymore people.

"It's something you must accept. It will happen, eventually."

She shook her head, "No, I won't allow it."

A sickly smile spread across his face, and she could practically hear his thoughts. _As if you could stop it. _She stopped it last time, hadn't she! She'd do it again if she had to.

He stood up and walked over towards a table near the exit, grabbing a cloth and a wooden bowel filled with something.

"Lucas, let me go." It wasn't a plea or a request, it was an order. If he wasn't going to kill her, what other reasons were there to keep her around?

He shook his head, a half-smirk on his lips as he walked back over to her. "That's not going to happen," he assured her as he sat back down, a growing glint clouding his otherwise dull eyes. "I have many uses for you."

His debauched tone caused her body to tighten in apprehension, and she had to take a second to compose herself. "I won't help you, Lucas," she finally stated, strong, obstinate, and stubborn.

Lucas however was not as convinced. "Yes you will." Confident and arrogant as always. "If you ever plan on getting back to Terra Nova alive again, you'll do as I say."

Her eyes only grew more furious. She bit her tongue as he casually dipped the cloth into the bowel, soaking the fabric in water before bringing it up to touch the skin above her eye. She winced as she felt a sharp pain explode against her skull, and closed her eyes as colors swept over her vision. He hesitated for a brief moment, watching her pained expression for a few seconds, before continuing.

Ah yes, now she remembered; when she got caught – the fingers wounding tightly into her hair; the overwhelming nausea after she was thrown into a tree, and then darkness. She probably had a mild concussion from the impact; it would explain why she had been asleep for so long.

Her mind raced despite the pain, trying to think clearly and get some sort of handle on her situation, but her concentration was waning as a headache desperately tired to distract her. Eventually though, she shook her head, forcing him to stop wiping away the blood above her eye.

"No."

He raised a inquiring brow, "No?"

"The day you tug me back to Terra Nova is the day you attempt to destroy it again."

His hand stilled; his eyes watching her carefully.

"You may be a genius, Lucas but I'm not stupid."

The reality of what she was telling him hit her hard. She'd rather remain in this danger-infested place; rather risk her life being his prisoner, destined to rot away on this very uncomfortable crate rather than assist him. And it was obvious in her glare that she would do whatever necessary to stop him in his advances. She would at least have her pride and loyalties, and that was something, right? She could barely think over the pounding in her ears.

"Terra Nova is my home; the only one I have left." She continued, finally looking at him. "I won't help you destroy it."

He let out an aggravated sigh and massaged his brow, truly confused. He didn't understand how these people could have such unwavering loyalty to a place run by such a corrupt man. They all could have had a chance to have more than this; _she _could have so much more if she'd just forget about that damn place. Why couldn't she do that?

Either way he needed her, and he'd convince her to cooperate.

He looked back up and brought the towel back up to the growing lump on her head.

"My employers are gone, in case you haven't noticed. I don't care about Terra Nova," he assured her as he dipped the red cloth into the water. "All I care about is confronting Taylor."

She held her breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment to relieve some of the tension growing in her muscles. She was very much aware of just how close his face was to hers, as well as how warm his breath felt against her skin. He was trying to convince her to do as he said, and he was once again using her discomfort with intimacy to make her bend. However, when she continued to refuse, his expression turned into a scowl.

"If you don't cooperate, Mira has ways to make you…_compliant._"

"A threat?" Her brows rose, but fell when she saw him shake his head.

"A warning," he cautioned, eyes deadly serious. "I'd prefer you not to be one of her victims. They don't tend to come back."

Why did he even care? His motives alone were baffling; throw in his clashing feelings, and he became unsolvable.

He pulled his arm away and sat back, dark eyes focused once again on her.

"What if I promise not to touch your precious home?" Skye glanced up, shock coloring her face. It stirred an exhausted grin from the male. "Like I said, I don't care one bit about Terra Nova."

She hadn't forgotten, "What about Mira?"

He shrugged and turned his nose up slightly. "Without my men, she's just leading a pack of hungry wolves."

Skye thought about it; _really_ thought about the offer. He was promising to avoid any confrontations involving Terra Nova meaning the people she cared most about would be safe from his hate: the Shannon's, her friends, her mother. All he wanted was her obedience, and as much as she didn't want to give it away, if it meant that her friends and family would be safe, she'd risk losing herself.

There really was no better choice. At least she would be safe staying with Lucas, or at least safe from the dangers living along the perimeters of the Badlands. It was better than being the focus of Mira's rage. It also beat running around in the wilderness trying to find her way back to Terra Nova.

Apparently, he knew how to get back there from here, and so if she ever did want to see her home again, she'd _have_ to agree. Once they did return to Terra Nova, she had faith in the Commander; if anyone could stop Lucas, it would be him. Lucas was simply asking her to step aside and allow them to finish what they had already began, and despite what she was so adamant to believe in, somewhere deep down she knew she couldn't prevent them from battling it out eventually.

What Lucas was getting out of this deal though, she didn't know, and that little detail terrified her.

"Be smart, Bucket."

The name made her cringe, but after a second, she looked up.

"My friends, my mother – you'll leave them out of it?" She asked again, hoping for reassurance.

His nod didn't seem all too comforting, but it was better than nothing.

"…deal."

She just needed a little more time to observe her surroundings, find Lucas's weak spot and use it against him, and then get home. It was possible; it would just take time and patience.

She watched as a triumphant smile broke out across his lips, and felt a grim unease grip at her bones, somewhat disturbed by his sudden change in behavior.

Carefully, she parted her lips, "What do you want from me?"

A smirk trampled his smile, darkening it considerably with something she didn't exactly recognize - because no other man had ever looked at her with such intensity.

Holding her breath, she feared that she had just begun to dig her very own grave.

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><p><em>Send me a review, kind reader! Yum yums on the way.<em>


	3. Stuck with a Madman

Again, a big apology because of the wait. But two more weeks and then school will be done! Right now, I have a few chapters already written out and I know exactly where I am going with the story, so I fully plan on finishing this fic! This chapter is a bit of a bridge; chapter four is long and I had to split it somewhere. But the next chapter was a lot of fun to write, and I think you'll enjoy it quite a bit. So stick with me, and I'll get it up much sooner this time around. Much love!

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><p>III.<br>_Stuck with a Madman_

"Medical?" She raised a brow in disbelief. "That's the reason you kidnapped me?"

He gave her a look verging on boredom before releasing a sigh, "No, that's the reason I gave to Silas as to why I decided to keep you around."

At the mention, his eyes grew deathly intense as he recalled memories hidden from her. Skye immediately recognized the look and felt her insides tighten in fear, wondering if maybe she had said something inappropriate to rouse up such anger, but she could have sworn her lips had been closed. It took her only seconds to realize his eyes weren't directed at her; instead they were glazed over, focused on something else entirely.

"He had…_other_ plans for you."

The suggestion was apparent; it dripped like poison from his tongue and seared the air with hot fury.

Her face fell at the words, and she turned her head to look away from him as thoughts of what could have been invaded her mind. Maybe she _should _be thanking Lucas. The details were vague, but she could remember a few things: the hunger in the savage's expression, and the rasp to his voice; his callous touch and invasive eyes; the way he stunk of blood.

Her stomach churned as she thought, '_Maybe there are worse things than being stuck with a madman.'_

In an attempt to steer her mind away from the events that transpired earlier that morning, she focused on the deal they had struck, trying to understand it a bit better. But something caught her attention first.

"What's wrong with Mira?"

She was somewhat surprised to learn of the drastic change in Sixer behavior. They had always been uncivilized to a certain degree: more animal than human, but with enough manners to understand and appreciate the rules that must be followed during wartime.

Mira specifically may have always been violent and territorial, but she had boundaries. She protected her own and valued honesty and community within her tribe. Hell, she was almost as talented as the Commander when leading her subordinates. She was a survivor, a leader – but Skye wouldn't exactly call her a murderer. Sure there were times when she bloodied her hands with the life of the enemy, but on most occasions she traded her prisoners for supplies: for medicines and always the attempted ammo.

Even when she held her mother's life in her very hands, Skye wouldn't call her a killer. Brutal, cruel even – but not a murderer.

From what Lucas told her, it sounded as if these limits were gone. And that worried her.

Lucas had walked over towards the base of the tent as Skye succumbed to thought and when she focused, she had to tilt her head a little bit to see him properly. He leaned against the wooden railing encircling the small hut, eyes drifting off towards the distance briefly before returning to her.

He thought about her question for a while, until finally he began to explain, "Taylor's destroyed the portal." There was some bitterness to his tone. "She was hoping to use the money she earned here and return to 2149 to find her daughter."

He was still close enough so she could hear him, and his words had a bigger impact than she had anticipated.

His voice on the other hand held no sympathy; it sounded as if he didn't give a damn about the Sixer leader or her problems.

She blinked a few times as comprehension suddenly stifled her. The sound of Lucas's soft footsteps filled the room as he pushed away from the ledge in order to return inside the confines of the shelter. She was too busy digesting the new information to look up at him.

Offhandedly, he explained further, "The Commander took that away from her."

He had moved in close and was currently leaning his shoulder against the pillar she was tied to, but his focus was preoccupied with the scribblings plastered against the adjacent wall. She glanced up at him, hoping to figure out what she should feel from his expression, but only saw bored indifference. He never glanced down to look at her.

Her eyes fell to the floor, discouraged and lost. "I didn't know she had a daughter; she never mentioned her."

He simply shrugged, "Everyone has a past. A motive."

She tried to shake the sympathy, knowing how dangerous and detrimental it could become. Distracted by her own troublesome thoughts, she was unaware of Lucas's small movement. His focus quickly returned and as her silence fell, his face shifted down to observe her reaction.

Sure, she felt some sort of pity for the woman but like her mother said, _'The ends do not justify the means.'_

Thinking about the older woman made Skye's chest tighten with worry. She would be worried sick when they convoy was reported missing and unresponsive. And once found, – an overturned Rover, all remaining bodies picked apart and consumed by the time they would discover it – did she even have the strength to hear that her daughter had been killed? Or would it only worsen her condition?

Because that's what they'd assume; unless the Sixers had gotten sloppy, their trail would be covered. That is if carnivores hadn't ruined the site and any evidence by the time they arrived. Unless…maybe the Sixers _wanted _Terra Nova to know about the attacks; a goad; a challenge?

More than likely though, the Commander would assume she'd been killed or eaten by some carnivore.

She needed to get back as soon as possible - if only for the sake of her mother. Some time while she was distracted, Lucas had pushed away from her to migrate to one of the smaller desks to her right. He now had his nose buried behind stacks of papers, eyes moving at top speeds.

"How long will I be here?" She asked boldly.

"As long as I say you will be," he answered, a bit distractedly.

"Like hell!" She boldly exclaimed.

The man let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, clenching his fists as he attempted to calm himself. Lucas didn't like company; he enjoyed his solitude, mainly because without it he couldn't think properly. Skye was a distraction, a big one at that and with distraction came error, and he couldn't afford any errors.

He imagined tying her to the base of the tree, a leash made of vine looped around her neck. Or maybe he'd make her her own little house and lock her inside; somewhere he couldn't hear her yapping. It brought an amused smirk to his lips. No doubt she'd _love _that.

His grin grew as he straightened his back, eyes opening and lifting to land on her. A dark chuckle escaped from deep in his chest as he slowly approached her with probing eyes. "I don't think you understand your situation."

With some arrogance and as much dignity as someone tied to the base of a wooden plank could muster, she provoked, "Please then, by all means, explain it to me."

Her brazen attitude had him tilting his head. Her disrespect should have angered him, but he found himself more intrigued by her fire. On some level, the challenge enticed him; he wondered, would that fire continue to blaze or simply fizzle out once he attempted to smother it?

Bending down, he placed one hand on the wood behind her head and leaned down to hover dangerously close, eyeing her expression and studying her eyes. She hesitated for a brief second, but predictably tilted her head up to stare back at him, too proud to back away from a challenge.

His smile widened as he licked his lips.

"Do not mistaken your worth here. You are my prisoner, and you have no say in the conditions of our deal." He moved in even closer, causing Skye to tense as his lips moved over to her ear. "You can however accept or refuse, but there is no discussion."

His lips lingered close, almost touching her skin – barely a whisper but with undeniable authority.

"Your options are simple. Stay here and assist with medical as to appease the Sixers and prevent them from ripping the flesh from your bones," he whispered into her ear, his tone turning dark and dangerous.

His fingers brushed lightly over her shoulder as he spoke, and the second he made contact, she jerked away from him, wincing when a powerful slice of pain moved up and down her deadened limb. His fingers never moved any closer though. She could still feel the warmth of his palm nearby, as if his touch had burned a sore into her skin, something she could only describe as electricity sparking in between the separated space.

He finished, "and when I'm ready, I'll return you to Terra Nova."

He finally pulled away and she released the breath of air she had been holding in. But he only moved to reposition his face back to it's originally position: right in front of hers. This time he was even closer, his lips dangerously close to hers. The air once again tightened in her lungs as their eyes connected, and with every ounce of control she had, she tried not to tremble. If she could move, she would have to create more space, but at the moment, she was digging her back as far into the wood behind her as possible.

_He's doing it again, _she thought. _Using intimacy to demonstrate his authority._

Her expression became stone as she jutted her chin up in defiance, her eyes flashing so blue, they almost looked silver.

He smiled at that, "Or you could just sit here – useless and pathetic. I can only control the Sixers for so long without an excuse, and eventually you _will_ be discovered and taken away as either a play thing for one of the boys, or as a pawn for Mira's enjoyment."

Her face fell a little at the starkness of his words.

The smile disappeared as he nodded. She needed to understand how serious this situation could turn out to be. "Believe me, being my prisoner is the better choice."

He lingered there for a moment, eyes flickering away from her eyes to fall on her lips for a brief second. But he instantly pulled away, releasing another sigh as he turned to retreat back to the desk. He stopped when her small voice asked the one question he didn't feel like answering.

"Why?"

He stared at the ground for a second before turning his head to look at her, face impassive.

She struggled to finish her question, her back shifting against the wood as she looked at the floor, hoping to hide the vulnerability that leaked into her eyes. It was obviously a question she didn't want to ask, but something she needed to know.

"Why would you willingly bring me back to Terra Nova, after what I…" she trailed off, unable to finish, unable to even look at him. She had been expecting uncontrollable rage from him if they ever met again; not deal making. There was something heated under his skin; something betrayed and furious that he had somehow managed to smother within the weeks they had been separated, but Lucas had never been one particularly gifted at stifling his emotions. Eventually she'd get the truth from him; she just needed to push all the wrong buttons.

But that idea scared her, and she wasn't sure she wanted to risk it.

He looked up at the ceiling as she asked her question and took a second to think of an explanation. Honestly, he didn't have one. Weeks after she shot him, he dreamt of not only butchering his father, but now also his sister. The one person he swore he would never hurt. And yet she betrayed him, tricked him, used him, and almost killed him. In his worst fits of rage, he no longer saw just the Commander, but her face as well.

She had taken the one thing he desperately wanted: a chance to kill his father. She deserved to be punished; deserved to die alongside their precious _father._ And yet, something inside of him couldn't allow it. And he didn't know _why _and he couldn't explain it, because he was a creature of rage and hate, and anything else simply escaped him.

His plan was simple: use her to get to their father – a trade. But he couldn't deny that there was something else fueling his actions; something he was determined to discover over time. Surely, his brilliant mind could understand something as simple as the feelings that motivated him.

He decided to indulge her, on one of the reasons at least.

Releasing a heavy breath, he turned to look back at her, "I don't care about anything else, Bucket." His voice was a tired whisper, but it still managed to travel through the air to her ears. "I just _need _to face my father again."

There was nothing but weariness, exhaustion, and desperation in those eyes.

_Why?_

It was the question that unhinged her. She just didn't understand. There was always more than one way to deal with a problem. Lucas was choosing the plan that promised the most bloodshed and agony.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "What are you planning, Lucas?"

A ghost of a smile formed on his lips as he raised his pointed finger to his temple, before giving it a small tap as a response.

_For me to know and you to ultimately find out… _

A whoosh and a groan suddenly filled the silence and both moved their eyes towards the opening of the tent in response. The sound was familiar and with its noise also brought comprehension. _Of course, _Skye thought to herself. _They're in the trees again. _It explained the strange noise as well as the creaks to the floors and the laughter of the leaves.

The Sixers used a pulley system - albeit dangerous - one that allowed them to move quickly from place to place without drawing too much attention. It was genius against predators seeing as most couldn't climb tree, but they had perfected it so it could not only be used defensively but offensively as well. Sixers were known for their shrewdness, and most travelers found themselves surrounded within seconds when they decided to drop from the trees to swarm their prey.

A man entered the hut, his footsteps loud against the hard wood floor. Lucas moved his head, eyes glazing over and filling with cold annoyance at the disruption. "What?" He asked with irritation using a tone he normally saved for people he'd rather just kill. The stranger didn't flinch at the question, only opened his mouth and delivered his message.

"Mira wants to see you."

"Of course she does," he replied with a heavy sigh.

He turned around and made his way over to the cluttered desk, grabbing a few things while muttering under his breath. Skye took a second to examine the newest addition. Her eyes ran over his form noticing his clothing and the color of his skin, eying the dirt and blood that crusted over his cheeks and arms. She didn't recognize him, but she could instantly deduce that he was a Sixer, not a Phoenix soldier.

He tilted his head when he felt her gaze but eventually turned his attention back to Lucas, obviously disinterested.

And then her presence there was ignored because not once did either men regard her again before leaving. The Sixer waited patiently for Lucas to gather his things which he did rather quickly before grabbing his pistol and holstering it.

As he passed by, she managed to her him mutter a frustrated, "This had better be quick" before exiting the tent with the Sixer messenger. The same tugging sound filled the area before silence fell, leaving Skye alone with only her bleak thoughts, and much to her exasperation, still tied to this very uncomfortable wooden plank.


End file.
